The man’s gaze rose in glittering wonder. “Why you do this?”
Marcus still could not find a way to express what he was feeling, except to say, “Sometimes words alone are almost a lie.”
The man nodded slowly, then returned to the inspection of his gifts. Marcus asked, “What is your name?”
The gardener took a long time answering. “Long time ago, I was Chung. Since then, many names. Many places, many names.”
Marcus settled a hand upon a small shoulder, hard as wind-carved rock. “Thank you, Chung.” When the man did not respond, Marcus turned and went inside.
MARCUS SLEPT LITTLE and woke hard. His dawn nightmare was the same, yet longer and more feral, trapping him and gnawing at him like some flesh-eating critter of the dark hours. He awoke gasping and drenched from the effort of freeing himself. He arose and ate a solitary breakfast, then turned to the task of preparing for what would no doubt be a long and wearying grind.
When Marcus entered the courtroom on Wednesday morning, Charlie Hayes was there to greet him. Alma and Austin had not yet arrived. Before Charlie could start in, Marcus said, “Kirsten is arriving with a new witness. Darren went to the airport to collect them. They should be arriving any minute now. With an interpreter. I need you to be downstairs to greet them and walk the witness through the process. Wait in the coffee shop for further word.”
Behind his glasses, Charlie did a slow blink. “An interpreter.”
“That’s right. The witness’s name is Hao Lin. She’s Chinese. And terrified. We’re bringing her straight from the INS detention center outside Washington. She was caught with a boatload trying to sneak into Chesapeake Bay.”
Charlie’s body might have slowed with age, but his mind was as swift as ever. “This why you told me to go ahead with the video enhancement?”
“Yes.”
“Did you know what the witness would tell us?”
“I guessed as much.”
“You guessed it.” Charlie gave his head a slow shake. “You sure had a lot riding on that guess.”
“I knew it had to be something big for them to murder Ashley over it.” When Charlie started to turn toward the defense table, Marcus continued, “I’m pretty sure Logan doesn’t know anything about that.”
“That witch he’s riding with looks vile enough.”
Marcus glanced over, found Suzie Rikkers glaring back. “Maybe. But not Logan. Being driven and ambitious doesn’t make a man an accomplice to murder.” Marcus ignored Suzie’s baleful stare and rose to greet Alma Hall. “I need you to help us with something.”
“Just say the word.” Tired but steady.
“I’m going to speak with the judge. When I turn toward you, go find Charlie in the coffee shop and bring them in.”
Marcus swiftly outlined what he wanted from Charlie. He was still heads down when the bailiff ordered the courtroom to rise. It was only when Marcus reseated himself that he noticed the continued murmur from behind, and turned to find himself facing a packed courtroom.
Charlie said, “You hear about the press?”
“Netty told me you’d fielded some calls.”
“Calls and cameras and microphones galore. Had myself a time.” Charlie rose from his seat. “I’ll go wait for the witness downstairs, take them for a cup of coffee.”
“Have them ready to ride within the hour,” Marcus said, and rose to address Judge Nicols. “Your Honor, I ask to approach the bench.”
“YOUR HONOR, we wish to present the video to the jury as evidence.”
Although the tape had been included as part of Marcus’ original evidence, clearly Judge Nicols had not expected him to request a jury showing. But Logan had. Before the judge had recovered, he launched into, “We hereby lodge an objection as to the authenticity of this evidence, Your Honor.”
She turned sternly toward Logan. Marcus refrained from turning as well, for Suzie Rikkers was standing on Logan’s other side, glaring at him. From this range he could almost feel the scalding heat. He kept his eyes fastened on the judge as Logan continued, “We don’t know who produced this tape, Your Honor. We don’t know where it came from. So the first issue is one of reliability. You can’t tell from looking at it who the speaker is. With today’s computerized manipulation techniques, it could be a voice-over, a different person entirely.”
Judge Nicols cast a swift glance at Marcus, but was drawn back by Logan’s insistent attack. “There is also the question of the purpose for which this video was made, Your Honor. It could all be part of an elaborate hoax. We have witnesses who will testify to the fact that Gloria Hall had a long history of activism and troublemaking. She apparently held a grudge against the Chinese regime. She had her own agenda. This could be something she cooked up entirely for dramatic effect. The risk of prejudice outweighs any probative value.”
Logan paused as the judge turned to Marcus, both of them apparently expecting him to respond. But Marcus would say nothing until the defense had fired off everything they had. Arguing at this point would only reveal his hand.
“One last point, Your Honor,” Logan went on. “Counsel for the plaintiff wishes to submit this video only to inflame the jury. He remains intent upon inciting prejudice against my client. We therefore move for its exclusion from evidence.”
When Marcus still remained silent, Judge Nicols decided, “Reluctantly I must agree with the defense. Unless you can establish its authenticity and demonstrate a valid purpose behind its being shown, I must exclude the tape.”
Marcus turned and nodded toward Alma, who instantly rose and left the courtroom. “We have a witness who can do precisely that, Your Honor.”
The judge’s eyebrows lifted. “This is the result of your requested deposition?”
“It is, Your Honor. Her name is Hao Lin.”
“She can authenticate this video?”
“And establish not only who made it, but the purpose as well.”
Logan started in, “Your Honor, I protest—”
“No, Mr. Kendall. I heard you out. Plaintiff has the right to demonstrate validity. I will reserve my final ruling on the tape until after I have heard this testimony. Proceed, Mr. Glenwood.”
“THE PLAINTIFF calls Miss Hao Lin to the stand.”
The INS officer who accompanied her forward only magnified the woman’s frailty. Hao Lin was just twenty-eight, but she bore the weary legacy of much hardship. She carried herself like a woman hoary with a wealth of winters. The entire courtroom watched mesmerized as the officer released the woman’s shackles. The bailiff clearly had no experience administering the oath through an interpreter, and had to be instructed by the judge to administer the oath a second time to the interpreter herself, who identified herself as a lecturer in Cantonese and Mandarin at Georgetown University and a licensed United Nations interpreter. Marcus gave silent thanks for the thoroughness of Dee Gautam.
Marcus decided it was best to start with the worst, and hope to at least partially disarm the defense. “Miss Hao, how exactly did you arrive in this country?”
Her response was a singing whisper, more a sigh than a true voice, and carried with it all the calamity of this age. By contrast, the interpreter’s voice sounded almost harsh. “I came by boat.”
“Was this a legal transport?”
“No.”
“So you were a refugee on an illegal vessel.”
“Yes.”
“Where did you board the vessel, Miss Hao?”
“Macao.”
“How much did you pay for the journey?”
“Twenty-five thousand dollars.”
“Did you have these funds?”
“No. I signed a paper promising to work for these people for ten years.”
“So you agreed to ten years of what amounts to bonded servitude in order to come to this country.” He cast swift glances all around. Judge Nicols and the jury were clearly riveted by her words. Logan was scribbling madly. Suzie blistered the air between them with her gaze. “Do you know w
hat work you would be doing here?”
“No. It didn’t matter. Anything would be better than what I left behind.”
Marcus moved slowly until he stood at the far edge of the jury box. Hao Lin wore a neat cotton top, patterned with flowers and dancing figures, that most likely had once belonged to a schoolgirl. Her jeans were bound about her middle with rope, and folded over to fit her tiny waist. She seemed swallowed up by the hard witness chair. “Please tell the jury what exactly you were leaving behind in China, Miss Hao.”
The voice diminished further still, until the interpreter’s translation sounded almost a shout. “For six years I was a political detainee, held in the lao gai prison of Factory 101.”
Judge Nicols hammered long and hard to silence the resulting uproar. Her voice was one notch below a snarl as she lectured the crowded room, “Listen up! This is not a theater. What you have up here is not for your entertainment. This is a court of law. I expect you to show proper decorum, or be expelled. Now, is that clear?” When she was greeted with silence, she nodded to Marcus. “Proceed.”
“You were at Factory 101 in Guangdong Province for six years,” Marcus repeated. “Were you ever given a trial?”
“No, a hearing in front of a Party tribunal. Nothing more. I did not even learn how long my sentence was until I had worked there for seven months.”
“Did you have a right of appeal?”
The question caused a series of back-and-forth discourses between the interpreter and the witness, who clearly had no idea what Marcus meant. Her face showed utter bafflement. Marcus caught sight of Judge Nicols watching the girl with pity. Finally the interpreter answered simply, “No.”
“No trial, no right of appeal. What was your supposed crime?”
“I was arrested while protesting the anniversary of Tiananmen Square.”
Marcus walked over to the other side of the room, distancing himself from what was about to come. He asked, “Did you ever see Gloria Hall at the factory?”
“Yes.” The reply came instantly. Much of the response was drowned out and had to be repeated. “The black American who spoke no Chinese. She worked on my line.”
Marcus took a photograph from his table, which meant he had to view the Halls’ stricken features up close. He showed the photograph to the witness. “Is this the woman?”
The witness looked long, very long, then replied to the photograph, “The same girl, but she did not look like this.”
“How was she different?”
“She was badly beaten.”
A low moan rose from the Halls. Judge Nicols looked over but did not speak. Marcus chose not to turn around, letting the jury stare for him. “Can you tell us about conditions at the factory, Miss Hao?”
“Horrible. We were chained to our machines. I glued the soles onto shoes. This American woman operated a steam press. The presses were the hardest work. We were fed gruel and beaten if we did not meet our daily quota.” The tiny chanting voice was dreadful in its simple clarity. “We slept in a dormitory, a long hall of concrete benches. We worked every day.”
“What did Gloria Hall work on?”
“Clothes. Bright colors. For children, I think.”
“We offer as evidence a New Horizons label.” He handed over the slip of cloth. “Do you recognize this?”
She shuddered as she took it. “I sewed this for three years before I made shoes. The shoes had the same logo.”
Marcus walked back to his bench for the next picture. “Plaintiff offers as evidence a photograph of the man whose name appears upon the incorporation records of the joint venture between Factory 101 and New Horizons Incorporated.”
“Granted.”
Marcus handed the photograph to the witness. “Can you tell me who this is?”
The woman drew back, refusing to take the picture, even to touch it. Her face showed total revulsion. “Zhao Ren-Fan. He owned the factory. He came and walked around and left.”
“Who ran the factory in his absence?”
“His son. A bad man. Very bad. And another man. He was more evil than the son.”
Marcus took the sheaf of photographs prepared by his secretary. “Plaintiff offers as evidence photographs of the New Horizons board and senior officers.”
Logan vaulted to his feet. “Objection! Unsubstantiated, inflammatory, unproven!”
“Overruled. You may cross later. Proceed.”
“Miss Hao, I would like you to examine these very carefully. Tell me if you have seen any of these men before.” Marcus held his breath as she went through the sheaf, for there had been no chance to prepare. Only to hear that white men had been there with the general.
She handed two back. “These only.”
“You saw these two men at the factory?”
The courtroom erupted. She winced as the judge pounded for order. “Yes. Several times.”
Marcus read the names off the back, “We identify these as photographs of James Southerland, chief executive officer, and Frank Clinedale, assistant chairman of the board, of New Horizons.”
Logan had to shout to be heard over the tumult. “Objection!”
“Silence! Mr. Kendall, I told you to wait your turn.” She glared out over the court, but said simply, “Proceed.”
“Miss Hao, let us move on to one day several weeks ago. You saw the two Chinese men who operated the factory in Zhao Ren-Fan’s absence unchain Gloria Hall from her steam press.”
“Yes.”
“Where did they take her?”
“To the room.”
He wished he could prevent Alma and Austin from hearing this, but he knew there was no way. “What room is that?”
“The room. The punishment room.” The woman’s features were hollowed to the core. Her gaze was lifeless. “The room.”
“How do you know what went on there?”
“Everybody knew. The room had a window so all could watch.”
“The punishment room had a window overlooking the factory floor, is that what you are telling us?”
“Yes.”
“How far were you from this window, Miss Hao?”
“Five machines.”
“So that would be no more than fifty feet, is that correct?”
There was a swift discourse, then, “Less.”
“So they took Gloria into the room. What was she doing?”
“Crying. Everybody cried.”
“Did you see what happened in there?”
“Yes. All must watch.”
“Please tell the court what you saw, Miss Hao.”
“They brought in a camera and made a tape.”
“A videotape?”
“Yes. They make her read off a sheet of paper. I watched carefully because I had not seen anything like this.”
“Was General Zhao taking part?”
“No. The general had not been to the factory in over a month. Longer.”
“So his son made the tape.” Marcus turned toward his table. He had to at least try and show the Halls what this cost him. Both parents looked stricken to the point of numbness, which was not altogether a bad thing. He asked quietly, “What happened then, Miss Hao?”
“They took the American girl down the stairs.”
“Where did the stairs lead, Miss Hao?”
She had the decency to stare sadly at the parents and say nothing.
Marcus waited a long moment. The air itself held a choking breath. “Miss Hao, where did the stairs lead?”
“Nobody knows.” The woman’s voice blew through the court like breath of the final winter. “Nobody ever came back.”
“No!” It was not Alma who shrieked, but Austin. The man toppled from his chair and would have collapsed in his attempt to rise had Charlie and Alma not been there to catch him. “No!”
Judge Nicols was on her feet as well. “Court is recessed until one o’clock.”
THIRTY-THREE
YOUR WITNESS, Mr. Logan.”
“Thank you, Your Honor.” Logan was
slow in rising, not out of fear, but rather from caution. He faced a new opponent. He sought to strike the killing blow. “Let me understand what you told the plaintiff’s lawyer, Miss Hao. That is your real name?”
“Hao Lin. Yes.”
Marcus struggled to concentrate fully. But it was difficult. His mind felt clawed by the morning’s testimony and Austin’s collapse. Not to mention the news that Kirsten had given him during the break.
Charlie was off comforting Austin the best he could. Marcus sat with Alma, who had insisted on returning to the courtroom. One of them had to be there, she said over and over, not for themselves but for Gloria. Marcus had sent Kirsten off on another assignment, one that could not wait. Not after he had received the information she carried.
Marcus remained caught not only by the news, but by the way Kirsten had delivered it. Alma and Austin had been broken by the morning, and the scars were fresh upon Alma’s drawn features. Kirsten, however, had neither wept nor withdrawn. She had kept her gaze fastened upon him, as though his example was what kept her intact. She had delivered her news in a steady voice, turning so that she could not see Gloria’s parents huddled with Charlie. She had watched him digest the news, and accepted his instructions with the silent steadiness of a pro.
Marcus willed himself to turn away from the memory of that beautifully intent gaze, and watched Logan begin his stalking dance. “All right, Miss Hao. What you want the jury to believe is that you just happened to be held in this factory in China. Then you escaped. Then you got on a boat. Then you crossed the ocean—wait, excuse me, you crossed two oceans. Because you would have first passed over the Pacific, then somehow gotten over here to the Atlantic. And then you wound up in little old Raleigh, North Carolina. Now is that right, Miss Hao? Have I stated that correctly?”
“I was released. Not escaped. But all else is correct.”
“You were released.”
“Yes. I served the full six years, then they let me go.”
“Then you just happened to find a boat heading to America.”
“No. The boat master found me. They like to take lao gai prisoners. They know we will pay anything to leave China.”
The Great Divide Page 30
